A Kind of Friendship
by Labelled
Summary: Placing her cool fingers on the bundle of towel, she unwrapped it to face the sleeping girl. Her eyes were shut, her chest was rising and falling at a steady rate. A wisp of violet produced from where a child’s fringe would start – the hair that Arella wo


The bundle shifted in her arms. The young woman's eyes filled with unshed tears, and her breathing turned heavy and slow in coming. Tucking brilliant indigo hair behind her ears, she closed her eyes briefly and turned the last corner. Shining in the moonlight, the manor stood out like a sore thumb amidst the sloping wooden houses of poorer Gotham.

Her breathing quickened to a frantic pace as she stalked up to the gate. Pressing a swollen thumb up towards a large green button, she trembled. A man's curt voice blasted through, ever loud but oh so soft.

_'Arella? Please make your way through…'_

The gates opened automatically. Surprised by the silence that followed the opening, the woman stuck to her place on the freezing, drenched pavement before walking forwards. She was afraid that the ground would crack beneath her sinned feet.

Making her way up the front steps, the woman reassured herself quietly. Everything would go as planned. It would be fine – and if not, the child was in safe hands. She needn't worry, Wayne would not let the child go anywhere with a bruise on her forehead, or a black eye. He would care for her, treat her like a father she never had.

Or a mother, she reminded herself bitterly. Placing her cool fingers on the bundle of towel, she unwrapped it to face the sleeping girl. Her eyes were shut, her chest was rising and falling at a steady rate. A wisp of violet produced from where a child's fringe would start – the hair that Arella would never see grow long.

O, she wanted nothing more than to back away from the promise, to keep the girl as she ran. Ran from what? The government? The world? Only time would tell, but for now the woman had to operate at the darkest of hours in order to survive.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed twelve. Just as planned… it was now or never.

She replaced the cloth around her child, and watched patiently as her fingers grabbed hold of the ancient knocker. Arella did not want the moment to end – it would be the last hour she would ever see her child, awake or asleep, live or dead. It occurred to her that, even if she did manage to meet the girl at another time… how would she know that it was her daughter she was speaking to? She had no name, and the woman had yet to find any physical features that would help in identifying her apart from her purple wisp of hair; which any average girl could have dyed.

With a shattering breath, she pulled the knocker up and slammed it down. Pull it up, slam it down. She repeated the course several times, then dropped her arm back to her side and waited.

"Miss Roth, that is unnecessary. I am here, and you may come in." The door opened, and the build of a worn-old British man appeared in the doorway, a bemused expression on his face. As she stepped into the hallway, Arella breathed a sigh of relief. The hallway smelt of leather, and looking around she spotted a comfortable amount of plush armchairs and rugs covering the floor. Down to the end of the hallway, a silhouette was shadowed in the doorway.

"Yes, that is master Bruce. He is to take care of your child as he takes care of young master Richard – well, I take care of him on a daily basis, but master Bruce adopted him a week or so ago so technically he does look after him, you know, providing him with a home after the dreadful accident with his parents."

One week. That was, give or take a day, when Bruce Wayne had agreed to take care of the baby in her arms. How many children could the business man take?

A hand gripped hers and soon Bruce Wayne's lips brushed against her balled fist. She yelped in surprise, Bruce dropped her hand with a smile. "Arella, I am pleased that you came. Not many would be able to summon up the courage; and, I daresay, nerve; to hand over their child freely."

"Yes," she mumbled. "I suppose so." Her hold tightened protectively around the child's waist, anyhow.

"The child, ms?" the british man offered from behind her, Arella nodded and the man pried the girl from her arms. She reluctantly let go, and watched wistfully as the man carried her down the hall and entered the room branching off from it, where a scream of delight could be heard, along with a muffled tut of disapproval.

Bruce seemed to have watched her eyes track down the man longingly, for he placed a soothingly masculine hand on her shoulder and smiled warmly, reassuring her. "His name is Alfred. Arella, he will not do anything to hurt your child; shall he, I will fire him." Widening eyes met this statement. "He is my butler." Bruce offered.

"Is not a butler for life?"

Crisp and short laughter followed, before Bruce regained composure – though it was not at all crippled – and coughed apologetically into his hand. "Not necessarily," he explained. "I did not get him when I was as young as Richard and your daughter, I met him at the age of twenty, when he was employed."

"Right." Arella sighed, eyes travelling around the room. It was so comfortable… squashed, yet roomy. "I like your house." She said bluntly, a small smile cracking on her parched lips. The man in front of her seemed to take this as a good omen.

"I am sure your daughter will have a lovely time here," he assured her, beginning to pace down the hallway. Arella followed quickly. "By the way, just for living references; what _is_ her name?"

They paused in the doorway, and looked in on the scene before them. A child around the same age as her daughter was sitting in a highchair, watching with a gooey smile of delight whilst Alfred cooked. Arella found her daughter sitting up, fully awake, in a yellow highchair across from the child's. Arella looked down at her feet as the small girl reached out to her. The boy in the highchair clapped in amazement, but his gaze hardened warningly. 'Don't…' it seemed to say. 'She never cared for you… Don't…'

"She doesn't have one," Arella mumbled shamefully, her chin digging into her neck as she concentrated on some mud on her shoe. "We – I – could never find one that suited her."

Bruce seemed to study her for a moment, but accepted it with a curt nod. "Do you wish to name her now?" he said.

"She is no longer my child," she said humbly, staring into the man's eyes with a sigh. "You will name her, I no longer have any business here."

"She is still your daughter," Bruce whispered, catching hold of Arella's shoulder as she made for the door. Spinning the woman around, he glanced into her eyes. They were cold, but pleading. "You will name her."

"No, I won't!" Sweeping into the kitchen, Arella pecked her nameless daughter's forehead before turning to face Bruce. "The midnight hour is near, I am leaving. Shall I see you again, until next time." And she walked past the shocked man, bracing herself for yet another stopping. But none came, no hand on her shoulder, no disapproving tone. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, and rose to a trot and before long she was standing near the door, breathing heavily.

From the kitchen, she thought she heard baby Richard say 'I told you so' tauntingly to her daughter. Placing her head on the cool wooden, she opened the door and disappeared into the night, leaving a family to be constructed and a strong friendship to blossom.

**Authors Note: I hope you enjoyed this – there is more to come if I get around to it. I understand that the backgrounds have changed dramatically in this, but it is not AU. They will still form the Titans, but for now baby Richard and baby Daughter have just met, at the ripe age of one, inside their foster dad's kitchen.**

**This has potential to be a Rob/Rae fiction, but may not be as they are in the same 'family', even if they are not related.**

**Comments and Criticism are both welcome, as it helps me know what needs to be done. And, admittedly, it boosts my ego so the second chapter will be done a lot quicker. :D**


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